


Daddy²

by gaypasta



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Parents, Dan sucks at parenting, Dil - Freeform, Dil is Dan's son, Dil is a little shit in all senses of the term, Fluff, M/M, Teacher Phil, mentions of Jamie Oliver (daddy af), mentions of ex-wife, single parent Dan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 23:19:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6029211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaypasta/pseuds/gaypasta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his sudden and difficult divorce, Dil - his son - began acting out and getting in trouble at school. Who knew a six year old could rebel against the system? Dan decided to pack up and move him and his son to London for a fresh start. This just makes Dil more distant, the bonds between Father and son are barely tangible and anytime Dan tries to fix them, Dil lashes out or storms off. As far as Dan is concerned - it's hopeless. <br/>Until Dil's teacher goes off on maternity leave to be replaced by a childish and eccentric Mr.Lester - who Dil adores. This new teacher actually seems to give a shit and a half about his students - especially Dil. That's a first.<br/>A very handsome first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daddy²

**Author's Note:**

> holy moly me o-my. you're the apple of my eye.

Dan tapped impatiently on the steering wheel as he tongued the inside of his cheek; the cars in front of him deciding to go all Medusa on him. Maybe it was like an inverted flashmob.  Instead of spontaneous singing and dancing, it's spontaneous car honking and stillness. He tutted in annoyance at himself: he was always smart enough to leave 15 minutes early to avoid the 5th circle of hell that is school traffic but  _ no,  _ he just had to finish painting that one wall, for the sake of personal achievement. Now here he is, stuck in traffic in his 2010 Renault Clio , his jeans covered in blue paint and nervously tapping rhythms onto the steering wheel while keeping an eagle eye on his watch.

 

In theory, if he pours the six cans of Red Bull he has stored in the back seat into his petrol cap, he might be able to fly over the endless queues of taxis and cars and only be about 5 minutes late. All of life's problems can be solved with enough red bull - a trick that he had learnt in his first ( and only) year of University.    
No, best not to think about University.  He groaned in frustration and dragged his hand down his face, he moved his hand, pulling the handbrake up; it’s not like he’ll be moving anytime soon. Sure, move to London- it’s swamping in great opportunities for young, goal-driven men! It’s also swamped in cars and traffic; not to mention the air pollution and crime rate. Oh God, the crime rate. He really should’ve picked a safer place to raise his son. His son which he is late picking up from school. A school he only started attending a week ago. That he hates. No father of the year trophies are arriving in the post anytime soon.

 

Dan stared out the window to the looming buildings surrounding him. They were fairly daunting;like walking in a forest between giant trees.Only the trees are much heavier  and less eco-friendly and he’s not walking; he’s not _ fucking moving _ . Dan shifted impatiently and continued tapping a beat into the quiet space of the car, the seat of the second-hand car squeaked as he began shaking his leg alongside his fingers. The first time he drove to pick up Dil he’d gotten lost - London was pretty big, and the biggest place Dan had lived in was Manchester when he went to University for a year, give or take a few months.

 

Not that that was really worth mentioning. Dropping out of University was perhaps the least disappointing thing he’d done since leaving adolescence, if his unfavorable love life was any  consolation. Now with Dil, well, having a kid tends to scare people off - not that Dan blames Dil at all. He loves him more than he thought he could love anything, and even if by the sake of angels, a man or woman found their way into the small family - Dan knows deep down that he could never top the paternal love he has for his son. No way. Not that Dil knew that. Dan moved to pick off some dried paint  from his jeans. 

 

His son really wasn't a stellar example of Daddy's boy, much more the opposite. With all the four weeks that Dan and Heather had gotten divorced and she packed up to move in with her boyfriend-  a sudden shift from his previous white, picket fence home with his son’s Mother - there hasn't been a single day yet where Dan hasn't been pushed away in the twilight and had the bedroom door slammed as hard as a six year old could slam in his face. There hasn't been a single day where Dan hasn't sat in his own room on his laptop straining his eyes over countless lines of codes and straining his heart trying to convince himself that he can't console Dil's heart wrenching sobs and broken cries for his Mummy.

 

After finding Dil curled up in Heather's empty wardrobe crying into her baby blue fluffy bathrobe in the early hours of the morning, Dan noticed how Dil played with his toys closer to the house phone than usual, or how he stopped reading his 'big boy' books and went back to reading the picture books his speech therapist had given Heather years ago to practice his 'S' sounds to prevent an oncoming lisp, or how he began to retreat into himself and gave as much of a cold shoulder as a child could muster towards their parent.

That was when Dan decided they both needed a new start.

There was nothing he could do to make it better, it was something that he could only make worse if he attempted to ease the sobs that raked through Dil's tiny figure. He had learned that the first night when he eased his way into the empty room and gently placed a hand on the shaking lump under the covers. He was met with kicking and flailing - which resulted in a pretty nasty bruise on the ribs; damn that boy can kick.

 

The traffic started to move. Dan pulled the handbrake back down and continued to observe the streets around him; he was a big fan of people watching. Currently he didn’t have an official job per se, but rather he offered coding services for websites and companies. There was a lot of competition, and although he was good, he wasn’t the best. He’s come a long way from the cringe-worthy website he made when he was fourteen.  _ Yikes _ . Glad that’s off the internet forever.  His prices were cheap though, cheap enough to give him a queue of up to five clients at any given time, or since he moved to London, fifteen. It’s an endless cycle really; wake up at seven o’clock, code, make breakfast, wake Dil, code while Dil gets ready, drive Dil to school, paint rooms and assemble furniture, code while paint dries, pick up Dil, make dinner, code, continue assembling furniture, put Dil to bed, code until 3 o’clock in the morning. Repeat.  He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t taking a toll on him, but until he can get a stable full-time job, he’s gotta pay for rent somehow.

 

Turning the car onto a less busy road and continuing to drive past rows upon rows of tidy terraced houses with tidy green gardens, he changed gears and accelerated down the much less congested road.  The houses were quaint, probably a standard three-bedroom one-bathroom layout. Much more desireable than the two-bedroom cramped flat that he currently rents. Maybe in a few years, we'll see. Dan tapped along to a pretty upbeat song on the radio.

 

After another couple of songs Dan turned into the gates of the primary school - it was very traditional looking, made entirely out of red bricks with tall glass windows outlined in dark, rich wood. Dil isn't at the drop-off point, normally he's sat against the large brick slab which reads ' Glenview Primary School' in chipped black lettering, usually playing on his 3DS or pulling grass out of the ground if he's had a particularly bad day. As much as Dil doesn't like Dan at the moment, Dan has strong doubts that he hopped into a stranger's inconspicuous white van, besides, with one puppy dog look and trembling lip they would send him straight back to the doorstep- first class stamp and all. 

 

Dan parked in the deserted parent parking, hell, even the few cars in the staff parking spaces were looking lonely. He's probably sitting in one of the ugly green chairs outside the reception office. Dan began picking the especially stubborn flecks of paint off his jeans in an attempt to look the slightest bit presentable. He climbed out of his car and began walking up the long path to the doors. The path had chalk scrawlings scattered on it, and Dan stopped to pull up his jeans, admiring a particularly...artistic spin on the traditional pet dog (it was breathing fire and had gills). He slowly pulled open the large glass door ( how on Earth was a child meant to open this oh my  _ god _ ), looking briefly around the bright crayon drawings as he approached the reception desk, forcing himself to smile as sickly sweet as he could to the bitter old hag whom he had had the misfortune of speaking to  _  many  _ times before. Be civil and get out of here as clean and quick as possible.

 

Walking up to the reception office, he curtly tapped on the sliding window, seeing her head whip around with too much vigour for someone at risk of fracturing a hip at any given moment. Her skeletal-like fingers pried open the window, leaving no physical barrier between Dan and the eternal fury of Ms. Devlin.

 

"Mr. Howell? Would this dennis the menace be yours?" She asked, her voice laced with condescension, as she pointed to the edge of the room that was barely out of Dan’s line of sight. Who does she think she is? And 'Dennis the menace'? What is this, 1996? 

 

"Dil? Yes, traffic and all," He confirmed nervously, wanting to go home as soon as he could. "Hope he wasn't too much of a handful." He laughed nervously. Ms.Devlin stared at him blankly for several seconds before turning around to where Dil must be sitting.

 

"Dillon, your father's here. Your...Nintendboy is in the top left drawer. Don't let me see it in school again or I'll have to report it to your teacher." Ms.Devlin's voice was broad and loud, and she had a tendency to spit when she said her  _ S’ _ s or when she got angry, similar to a llama. Dan heard some mumbles and rustling from behind the door. He stepped back from the window as Ms.Devlin slid it closed. Her unwavering stare at Dan and his paint-speckled jeans may have encouraged him to step back slightly farther. The mumbles of discontent grew less muffled as the boy stepped out from behind the door, his brunette hair as unruly as Dan expected it to be after a day of running his hands through it, a habit he'd picked up from Dan when he was barely 3 after demanding to watch his father attempt to budget their household funds so they could afford a better car than their  2010 Renault Clio, which evidently hadn’t worked despite several hours of stress and forceful calculator punching.

 

Dil was scowling at the door which swiftly clicked shut behind him, his bottom lip pushed out in a disgruntled pout. Dan soon mirrored his emotive state as he noticed Dil's navy school jumper flecked with dried mud and his usually clean black plimsolls were caked with dirt and grass. He'd just washed his uniform yesterday. 

"Dil, what happened to your uniform?" Dan asked, forcing himself to sound nonchalant. Dil's hazel eyes clashed with Dan's before his gaze flicked down to Dan's jeans.

 

"Dad, what happened to your trousers?"  Dil retorted bitterly.

 

Dan sighed. He couldn’t technically scold Dil for talking back, he had a point. Dan crossed his arms and motioned with his head for Dil to come closer. "Well I was painting your room, so tone down the sass or I'll paint it dandelion yellow-" Dil scrunched up his face as he moved closer. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Now what were you doing? Making mud cakes? Trying to make a winter coat of dirt?" 

Dil shrugged and broke eye contact, choosing to peel at the pokemon stickers on his 3DS instead. Conversing with Dil was sometimes like drawing blood from a stone. Dan knelt down until he was at eye-level with Dil, which was hard considering Dan was pretty tall, and Dil was short for a six year old. Dan noticed the fraying ends of Dil's grey school trousers from where the backs of his heels had caught them while playing football at his old school. Yeah, he was really short for a six year old.

 

"Dil, why are you dirty?" Dan insisted, he hated interrogating his son but he didn't want Dil getting in trouble like he did in Manchester.  That was one of the other main reasons for moving from Manchester, Dil was constantly getting into trouble and getting sent to ‘time outs’ during break and lunch (which is a nicer way of saying detention, because no monster would put a child in  _ detention  _ ). 

Dil’s last teacher - Mrs. Scally - a middle aged woman,had been relatively supportive of Dil and had nothing but good things to say about him during parent-teacher interviews, aside from the usual mantra of  _ ‘ Dil’s a very sweet boy, but he needs to participate and speak up in class more’. _ Some kids are shy and pushing him will only make him more introverted. When the school was informed of the separation, she was lovely to Dil, excused him from homework some nights, let him read at lunch instead of play football, but as soon as Dil started to get hot-headed and moved into the ‘aggressive’  stage of grief, she would scold him or take away his books. Dan gets it- Dil yelled at kids for no real reason and he’d slap them for trivial things, like not giving him the blue chalk or for not moving out of his way - you can’t let that slide, but Dan knows his son, and punishment isn’t how you cope with this stage, that will just drag it out longer. And it had. Dil would stomp his way into the car and huff the ride home, slam the car door and kick his shoes off at the wall and furiously wipe away angry tears. Then, his moods would swing between sad and angry. He was unpredictable at the best of times, and the poor treatment from the school wasn’t helping.

 

So far, the teachers here haven’t been much better, but it’s an improvement nonetheless. 

 

Sighing, Dan stood up and started moving towards the car, motioning for Dil to follow. He loved his son unconditionally of course, but God knows he could be stubborn when he wanted to. Lately, it seemed that there was nothing Dil wanted more than to act stubborn. Standing up straight and walking out of the building, Dan reasoned that it would  probably be better to wait for when he could actually sit in some sense of comfort, rather than making his legs ache unnecessarily from crouching in a public place for lord knows how long before he'd receive an actual answer.

 

Once they had sat  in the car, seatbelts buckled, and began moving through the more sparse traffic towards their home, Dan figured he might as well try to pull some conversation from his only child, considering they were basically locked in a contraption and Dil couldn’t run from the conversation. Not the best parenting tactic, but it’s not like he had time to study parenting leaflets. Dan took a breath and a leap of faith. 

 

“How was school today?”

 

“Fine.” The reply was short and mumbled with disregard to his question as Dan had expected. Adamant to get at least a few more words out of his son, perhaps even a sentence, Dan tried again.

 

“Did you do anything fun then?” Dil shrugged in reply and turned to his 3DS, making a conscious effort to scoot farther away from his Dad, and rested his head on the window;which Dan had told him countless times before  _ not  _ to do because as soon as they went over a bumpy road he always got a paternal-sense that his son’s brain was being rattled into a smoothie. 

 

Dan had thought defiance towards the parental unit was not supposed to kick in until puberty, but he guessed this was just one of the ever-rewarding curveballs of parenthood. Several weeks ago, this act of negligence towards him by his own son would have caused his shoulders to sag and his mood to sour, but he has learnt to just roll with the punches to prevent himself getting hurt and hurting Dil in retaliation. 

 

Dan continued to drive through the towering buildings, normally after a bad day he would have stopped off at a newsagents and buy Dil some ridiculously overpriced sweets (fuck London), but he had left his wallet at home in a rush to avoid being late. He fidgeted his grasp on the steering wheel and shot a look of apology to Dil. Dan knew it was ridiculous that he felt this bad about it, but it’s always the little things that count the most in any family relationship. 

  
He changed gears and turned into a more quaint road, which would lead them in a straight line to their flat building. He could sense Dil fidgeting in the seat beside him, and forced himself to look much more relaxed and content than how he felt currently.

 

“Our teacher is going away on alimony leave.” Dil noted from behind his game. Silence lapped on for a few seconds while Dil’s fingers danced around the buttons as the cogs in Dan’s brain kickstarted into translating what Dil actually meant.

 

“Alimony leave? Do you mean maternity leave? Is she having a baby?” Dan responded, with interest.

 

“Mhm.” Dil agreed, obviously his one-minute free talking trial had expired and he returned his full attention to his game. Dan was nothing if not relentless.

 

“So you’re getting a cover teacher? Are you excited?” Dil shrugged with one shoulder, not even blinking away from his screen. “Maybe they’ll let you watch movies, how’s that sound?” Dan received a monotone and cold ‘cool’ in response. Still, he was not overly grumpy today, which was always a good sign. 

 

The rest of the car ride was silent Dan pulled into their parking space and followed Dil out of the car and up the steps to their flat on the third floor. Dan shivered slightly in the breeze as he fumbled to unlock the door. 

 

Dan stepped into the living room and shifted aside for Dil to walk past him with a mission to perch himself on the sofa and watch TV. The living room/kitchen (thank god for open living) were practically finished, all the furniture had been assembled and the walls had all been painted. Only the two bedrooms had to be completed. Dil’s was a work in progress with nothing but a bed in the centre of the cramped room with half of the walls blue and the other half  a peeling pale. On the other hand, Dan’s room hadn’t been started yet, so his room was packed with both his own possessions in cardboard boxes as well as a small collection of Dil’s. The living room had its fair share of Dil’s boxes too;namely his clothes and toys for easy access, as well as a wardrobe which took up a large portion of the living room, which had resulted in Dan bumping his hips a good number of times. 

 

Dan strolled across the carpet onto the linoleum of the kitchen and dropped his keys into the allocated bowl on the edge of the breakfast bar beside his closed laptop. He peered into the cupboards in hopes of finding something that would make a half-decent meal other than instant noodles and beans on toast. He heard the opening to DIl’s current favourite TV Show playing from the TV speakers and he hummed along as he looked through the unfortunately near-barren fridge.  The vegetables in the bottom drawer looked like they were on their way out, better to try using those today. Stir fry? No, Dil wouldn’t eat that without noodles and chicken. Vegetable pasta? That might work, yeah. If there’s pasta in it Dil will more than likely like it. Dan filled the pan with what he hoped was the right amount of pasta and filled it with water, before letting it simmer on the hob.

 

When dinner was ready, the TV was turned off. It was not that he was trying to force communication,it’s just that he’s trying to encourage it. Despite Dan’s best efforts and attempts to lull Dil into some light conversation, they mainly ate in silence at the breakfast bar. The flat was too small for a half-decent dining table, plus it was only the two of them, so there wasn’t any point. Dan cleaned up the dishes while Dil did his Maths homework.Dan had offered to help when the boy began tapping the end of the pencil against his page, his face screwed up in concentration, but Dil shook his head and told him that Dan helped with  _ English  _ not  _ Maths, _ that it wasn’t his homework-helper duty. Dan tried to delicately explain to him that now Dan has to help with  _ all  _ the homework. When Dil’s eyes started to water, Dan put down the bowl he was drying and told Dil he was going to continue to paint his room and just to shout if he needs help.

 

When he came out of the room to let the paint dry, he noted Dil sitting cross-legged and watching some cartoon about dinosaurs. It looked like a rip-off of the Land Before Time, but that’s none of his business. Dan changed into his pyjamas and did some coding work before his eyes started to burn and it was about time for Dil to be put to bed. Dil’s room was pretty cold as he had to leave the window open for fumigation purposes, but Dil denied Dan’s proposal to swap beds for the night. He offered to read Dil a story, when Dil replied saying that he’s read all his stories too much, Dan promised to bring him to a bookstore in the city and let him pick a few more books on whatever he wanted on Saturday. This was gonna cost more money than they could realistically afford to spend, but the way Dil’s eyes lit up and he thanked him. You could take the clothes off his back if you wanted just so he could see that smile again. 

  
  
  


++

 

The week and the weekend went by much the same as usual, except Dil had decided to swap the TV show he usually watched, and chose to watch a Jamie Oliver cooking show when he got home instead. Dan pretended to prefer the cartoon (the theme tune was far more catchy than Jamie Oliver), but in all truth, Dan can’t cook for shit and a bit of Jamie Oliver never hurt anyone. 

 

During the week, Dan had finished Dil’s room, but decided against working on his own bedroom and getting some work done instead in order to cover for all the money they would inevitably spend on Saturday. Dan’s precautions were not in vain. They had a day out on Saturday and bought Dil a handful of new books to read. Dil had also wanted to look in the pet shop and see all the rabbits and fish. It was a good day out; it took a lot of insisting, but Dan managed to get Dil to hold his hand so he wouldn’t get lost in London. Dan had also picked up a few things for around the house: a coat hanger for beside the door, a drill to hang up the coat hanger for beside the door, screws for the drill to hang up the coat hanger for beside the door and a pair of different headed screwdrivers in case he fails using real machinery. Not that he’d gotten around to putting it up yet, of course. The day was cut short when Dil  _ swore _ that he saw ‘Mummy’ walking a dog. Dan had attempted to gently push Dil along, which resulted in a blubbering six year old trying to wriggle out of his hand’s grip to chase after a woman who definitely was not his mother.

  
Monday rolled around quicker than expected. Dan had started to rely on Dil to keep him on schedule for what day it is because days just blur together when you’re working non-stop. But before Dan knew it, he was rushing out of the flat in sweats and a t-shirt that was never intended to meet the light of day to avoid being late for Dil (again). Thankfully, he wasn’t late… well, not by much. 

Dil was sat on the grass, leaning against a stone slab. Dan had expected Dil to be playing on his 3DS, but today he was reading a small, brightly coloured book. Dan smiled as he realized his son hadn’t noticed that he had driven up to the collection point, barely a stone’s throw away from where Dil was sat. He must be really immersed in this book. Was it creepy that he had watched Dil read for a few minutes? Maybe, but he's a Dad, also Dil had looked so serene in the moment that he couldn’t help it. 

  
  


Eventually Dil looked up from his book, and checked into the real world. He jumped slightly, then collected himself  and his belongings and stood up, keeping his book under his arm and padded towards the car. Dil’s  hands were full, so Dan leaned over the handbrake to open the passenger door for his son, not wanting him to drop his book or his bag which had his extortionately expensive Nintendo 3DS in, the handbrake jutted uncomfortably into his side. Just another bruise amongst dozens of others. If Dan had anticipated that moving would cause him this much physical pain then maybe he would have considered it more.

Dil hopped into the car, throwing his schoolbag onto the footspace in front of his seat and promptly fitting his seatbelt. Dan smiled in greeting, before pulling down the handbrake and shifting to first gear to drive out of the pick-up zone of the school and onto the road. 

 

“How was school today? Any exciting gossip?” Dan asked, not really expecting much of a response but to his surprise, Dil nodded enthusiastically. “Oh? Really? Don’t leave me hangin’ here.” 

 

Dil undid the top button of his white polo shirt, “We have our new teacher now. He’s called Mr. Lester.”

 

“Is he nice?” The question was pretty redundant, Dil was hardly going to be this excited if he was a grumpy old bastard.

 

“Yeah! He changed our extra Maths time to extra reading, I hate Maths.” 

 

“Is that why you have a book? It looks good, what is it?” Dan asked, trying not to peer for too long at the book and keep his eyes on the road.

 

Dil sat for a few moments, trying to gather his thoughts to describe the book. Dil is pretty quiet, just by nature, Dan’s thankful that he always thinks about what he’s going to say before he says it, just one person in the family making social situations awkward is enough.

 

“It’s about a family of dinosaurs. The Daddy is a T-Rex, the Mummy is a steg-o-saw-rus and the son is a pterodactyl, or something. It’s kinda boring, I just like the colours.”  

 

Dan raised his eyebrow at the lull of Dil’s enthusiasm, before nodding his head in sullen understanding and patted his son’s leg. Dil didn’t respond and just continued to stroke the brightly coloured book.

 

“So, you like Dinosaurs? I know you like that Dinosaur programme on CBBC. You know, they say there are two types of people in the world; dinosaur people or space people.” 

 

“I’m more human than dinosaur.” Dil mumbled quietly and gave a small watery smile. Dan laughed, it’s rare that Dil cracks jokes. The laughter waned off and they sat in silence for a couple of minutes, Dan noticed for a few seconds Dil making noises like he was about to say something then changed his mind as he was about to say it.

 

“You okay D-”

 

“What was Mummy?” Dil’s voice was quiet and barely audible and Dan had to slow the car down and look over to double check that Dil had actually spoke, but he had. Dan felt his body stiffen and his senses were heightened. He instinctively slowed down the car and prayed that he wouldn’t sour Dil’s mood.

 

“What was that?” He hoped Dil would shrug it off and that they wouldn’t breach the topic of his Mother.  Not that Dan didn’t want to talk about her, or that he was too upset about it, Dan actually wanted to talk about Dil’s mother to him and try to re-establish some form of communication between the two. It was just that Dil was still too upset about it. He was still too fragile.

 

“Was Mummy a dinosaur-person or a space-person?” Dil asked quietly, stroking the small dinosaur on the cover of his book. Dan coughed.

 

“Your Mother- sorry - Mum was a dinosaur person I think. From what I remember.”

 

“Oh.” Dan turned the car into their road, driving barely 15 miles an hour. “I like dinosaurs.”

 

Dan hummed in acknowledgment. “I know you do. Hey, since I haven’t put all your furniture back in your room yet, how about we paint some dinosaurs on your wall? I can see if I can buy some stencils.”

 

Dil shrugged and unzipped his back and gently dropped the book in his hand into his bag, hand hovering over the buckle of his seatbelt as they pulled up to their space. 

 

Dan sighed as he turned off the car and Dil hopped out. Guess there’ll be no dinosaurs on the wall. At least he’s saving money. That doesn’t make him as glad as he should be, especially in their weak financial situation. He made his way up the stairs and unlocked the door for Dil who followed his usual routine of watching cartoons until dinner. Dan decided that takeout was their best bet for tonight, he didn’t have the time or energy to cook a balanced meal for two. Chinese it is.

 

Dan phoned through the order and decided to continue the final bit of freelance work for this travel agent’s website while they waited on the food. The agency seemed 100% a scam and illegal but he’s getting paid a decent amount for it, and it’s pretty easy as long as you add some false credentials and a “safe and secure” payment method then his job will be done. He knows in his conscience that he’s doing wrong by people and the angel on his shoulder told him to walk away from this one, but it’s an easy job for a nice sum of money. When did he trade in his morality for numbers in his bank account? 

 

Eventually the Chinese came, Dan gave Dil the money to give to the delivery boy (Dil gave him a £9 tip) and they nestled into the sofa to watch a family movie playing on a freeview channel. Five minutes into the movie Dan felt a small finger poke him a bit sharply in the side - right on a bruise. 

“Yeah?” Dan turned his head to see what Dil was looking, who of which was frowning into his Chinese. “What’s up? Is the chicken still alive?” 

“They put curry sauce on my rice. I asked for gravy.” Dan peered into the silver containor. That they had.

  
“Here,” Dan swapped their containers, giving Dil the rest of his own gravy rice and taking the curry rice. “You can have half of my chips too, I’ve already eaten some of the rice.”

 

Dil reached over to swap their forks, his hands miniscule compared to Dan’s. “I thought you didn’t like curry. I remember because once Mummy made curry and it was too hot and hurt your mouth.” 

  
Dan paused for several beats, trying to sense the mood. Surprisingly, there was no tonal shift which Dan wasn’t expecting. Up until now, every single mention of Heather had dampened Dil’s mood, or lightened his anger up like when you blow into embers a bit too hard. Nonetheless, this had to be treated with the upmost care and trepidation. One  wrong step and this entire evening’s mood goes sour. 

 

“Yeah, I can’t handle spicy food. Mum always had a taste for it though. She loved making Mexican and Indian, but I have the spice capacity of a purebred white englishman.” Since Dil brought up his Mum for once, maybe it’s indication that he’s settling down.

 

“That’s silly. I like Mexican.”   
  
Dan chuckled, “You get that from Mummy.”

 

Dil continued eating, an intense look of concentration littered his face, like when you’re thinking of a word but you just can’t quite get it. “What else do I get from Mum?”

  
Dan smiled. He loved Heather, there was mild doubt that he would ever stop. The divorce was unexpected and painful, one day she sat down and cried saying that she couldn’t live her life like this. She wanted to travel the world, family just held her back. Dan was understanding, but don’t let it fool you - he was seriously pissed. He couldn’t ever forgive her for abandoning Dil without so much as a solicitor agreement to see him once a fortnight. It broke Dil’s heart. Nonetheless, he loved her and up until that point she was the best mother that Dan had ever seen, making up for his personal lack of natural paternal instinct. 

“You have her eyes. You’re very good at football and you’re dangerously adventurous - that’s all Mummy.” 

 

Dil looked a bit more at ease. “I’m like Mummy?”

 

“You’re like Mummy  _ and  _ like Daddy. We both made you.”

 

“Why didn’t you get another one? Like a sister or brother for me?”

 

Dan of course, wasn’t going to tell Dil that his entire existence on this planet was an accident and resulted in his parents arguing and crying. “Well, me and Mummy got you on the first try. We didn’t need another one, you’re everything we wanted.”

 

Dil scrunched his nose up and continued eating his food. “A bit awkward.” Dil squirmed in discomfort for several moments. “You’re being mushy. It’s gross.”

 

Dan tried not to laugh. “All adults are gross, and someday you’ll be one.” He poked Dil in the side, “And you’ll buy things like lamps and vegetables and you’ll spend  _ hours  _ watching home improvement shows.” 

 

Dil violently shook his head. “I don’t wanna be boring. I wanna be cool, like Mr.Lester.”

 

This is the second time today that Dil has mentioned this new teacher, this could be a good topic of conversation. Dan kind of wishes that he didn’t have to calculate every conversation he had with Dil, that it could be natural, the way most families are.  “Tell me about Mr. Lester.”

 

“Um…” Dil comically cupped his chin, mimicking all the over exaggerated ‘thinking’ poses he’d seen on TV. “He’s old, but not old-old, like… adult-old.” 

  
“Like my age?” 

 

Dil shook his head. “No, a bit older. I think he said he would be thirty soon, that’s so old! He’s really nice, I did badly in a spelling test and instead of making me do lines he asked me if I was struggling with spelling and gave me easier ones to learn for next week.” 

 

Dan smiled, he was kind of glad the other teacher was off for maternity leave. She was nice and very comforting to the kids, but she always gave Dil a hard time with his spellings because his Maths was excellent, but his spelling was a little lackluster. 

 

“That’s good, Dil. I’m sure you’ll do better now that they’re easier, and we’ll work on helping you focus, okay?” 

 

Dil pouted a bit as he finished off his rice. “I hate spellings, Dad. They’re hard to learn.” 

 

Dan took Dil’s empty container out of his hands and dumped it in the brown paper take-out bag it came in. “You were good at them last year, and I know they’re hard. I struggled with them too. You’re very smart, you’re great at Maths and I’ve read over your homeworks - you’re not bad at writing either. Learning to spell new words takes time, even as an adult it takes time.” 

 

Dil frowned, his eyebrows furrowed and he hopped off the sofa and made his way to his room. 

 

Fuck.

Dan cleaned up from dinner, trying to make as little noise as possible in case his son was asleep. He cleaned the kitchen and considered catching up on fixing up the flat, but decided to hit the sack early. It was only about 9pm by the time Dan had shed his jeans and shirt and rolled into sweats and a loose t-shirt into his messy bedsheets and the cold darkness. 

 

Dan heard Dil stomping behind his door not long after. Dan sat up, the cold biting his skin through the open window. Dil stormed in. He kicked and punched at the walls and the end of Dan’s bed, trying to reach his legs. A soft mocking laughter pierced through his skin, the louder the cackles got, the harder Dil was hitting him. Dan tried to push him off, his punches were feeling more and more like bricks being hurled onto his legs. Dan could feel bruises forming and his son’s face got less and less angry and more emotionless, like a statue. Dan could feel his heart shrinking as he pressed his son farther away from him.

 

The laughing stopped. Dan blinked and Dil was gone. He was alone and draped in a cold sweat. The window was shut. 

 

Dan’s throat felt dry, like he’d been swallowing glass. He moved over to sit on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees and his head heavy in his hands. He needed a drink. With a grunt he pushed himself up and ventured out to the kitchen to get a drink of water. 

 

When he was half way through is water, he heard Dil’s door open followed by the pitter-patter of tiny feet. Dan tried not to smile too hard at the sound. Dil looked confused as to why Dan was up. He was wearing one of Dan’s t-shirts that had shrunk in the wash.

 

“Da-daaa-” he was broken off by a yawn. “Dad, what’re y’doing up? S’late.” Dil looked like he was about to pass out on the floor. He must’ve had trouble going to sleep.

 

“Getting some water. You want a glass?” Dil shook his head and rubbed his eyes, the sleeve of the t-shirt draping over the length of his actual arms.

 

“Wan’ hot chocolate.” Dil moved to reach the cupboard about a foot and a half taller than him. Dan chuckled and tousled his hair. “No don’ touch m’hair.” Despite what he was saying, he leaned into his Dad and rested his head against Dan’s thigh.

 

“Here, you go back to bed and I’ll bring it in okay?” Dil nodded and padded blearily back to his room. Dan felt more awake than he did when he just woke up. After that nightmare. He frowned as he heated the milk on the hob. He hadn’t had a nightmare in a long time. Maybe it was just eating before bed, or talking so much about Heather. It was good that they were able to talk about things, hell Dil had opened up more in the past evening than he had in weeks, it was a sign of progress and Dan really couldn’t be anything but positive about it. He doubted that Dil would ever see his Mother again, she was virtually untrackable - last Dan heard she was spending a month in Guam.  _ Guam _ . Dan had to spend twenty minutes on Wikipedia to even figure out where it was. 

 

The milk was warm enough to pour into a mug with hot chocolate powder. Dan stirred, trying to avoid the hideous clicking noise of the spoon crashing against the mug. It somehow worked. He lifted his own water and set it on the floor beside his bed first (he hadn’t bought himself a bedside table yet) before walking quietly through Dil’s open doorway. Dil was half asleep, cuddling his blanket. He squinted at the mug after the soft sound of it being set on his bedside table alerted him to Dan’s presence.  He took a small sip of it, leaving him with a milky moustache and turned over and fell asleep nearly instantly.

 

Dan shook his head fondly at the waste of the drink and leaned over his son to kiss the top of his messy haired head. He loved him so much. Dan still finds it hard to believe his ex-wife could walk out on this completely. Dan would have withdrawal symptoms. Dan tried not to spend too long watching his son sleep because one - creepy and two - it was late and Dil had school tomorrow. 

 

Dan quietly slipped out of Dil’s room and fell into his bed and into a dreamless sleep.

  
  



End file.
